


Fromageddon

by suddenrain



Category: Blur (Band), Yesterday (2019)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Cheese apocalypse, F/M, Gen, Inspired by the movie 'Yesterday', No ships but i'm still putting it in the gramon tag cause i want people to see my fic!!, i'm just not sure people check the blur tag :/
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 15:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suddenrain/pseuds/suddenrain
Summary: What if Blur never existed? Would anyone notice? Would anyone care? And more importantly...Would Alex James still be making cheese?





	Fromageddon

Oh God. His brain was going to melt. His brain was going to melt, sizzle and end up like the steaming dairy broth that was the main topic of conversation today. The bitter smell... It was infiltrating everyone’s noses. Every surface around the ridiculously large cheese tank had been clouded by a sticky sort of shine. Every pore of his body was sweating cheese now. And all the well-dressed people kept chatting, chatting, chatting under the pergola.

Usually, in this kind of situation, he managed to spot someone he could connect with, someone that looked as isolated and lost as him, adrift between clusters of guests: it could be an overwhelmed local newspaper intern who didn’t know who to talk to first, or maybe the misunderstood, crimson-cheeked drunkard; soaked shirt sticking to his flabby belly. But today, it seemed that everybody had forgotten about this thing called the inner melancholy of man at the thought of gorging themselves on Swiss cheese.

See, having three surrogate brothers did not just mean more useless fights and and weird unresolved tension, it meant being required to attend at least twice as many pseudo-family reunions as you would normally do. And in his case, sometimes, those events would involve having a taste of the Guinness World Record holder fondue in Alex James’ backyard.

Suzi hadn’t wanted to come. ‘I’ve got better, more enlightening things to do, darling’, she had said, making sure he was getting a good look at her infuriating smirk as she was lounging on the couch, reading an art magazine. As for Missy...even asking her would have been futile. She had just come back from America, having missed her friends from back home like crazy, so wasting her time with her uncool dad at this boho equivalent of a village fete was clearly out of the question. 

Oh, did he wish there was still plenty to drink in Alex’s cellar. Hiding behind the round rim of a lager pint was the only protection he had against the modern-day landed gentry and their splendid smiles, their pork-pink progeny and their crisp white shirts. ‘How is their skin so pale under the evening sun?’ he wondered, watching them from a distance. ‘Aren’t they supposed to be farmers?’ A sigh escaped his lips. He already knew that if he had too much to drink, coping with them would become much more of a challenge. Slurred insults would just fly out of his mouth. Wiping off the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he turned to the sunflower hills that reached the clear horizon. Viscid orange drops of sun were gliding onto velvet slopes, and lonesome cedars were casting endless shadows on the sleepy countryside. If only he could turn into a wild rabbit.

The crunch of dry grass under rubber boots tickled his ears and he realised that Alex was striding towards him with a big silly grin plastered across his face. A young woman in a black jumpsuit, with a very generic, smiley face and hair straighter than a blade, was following his steps. As they approached, Damon quickly realised that she was staring at him with the kind of starstruck wonder of those who believed that pop stars knew the meaning of life. Well, he was not in the mood.

“What’s the matter, mate? Deep in thought?” Alex said, his wide smile not faltering one bit as he patted him on the shoulder.

“Oh, nothing, really, I was just complaining in my head.” Damon grumbled while casting a weary glance at the woman, the meaning of which he hoped Alex would understand.

“Are you not excited about the fondue?”

He looked down at his empty glass.

“Hm. Vaguely.”

“Come on! Have you seen the size of that cauldron? Have you ever seen something as glorious as-”

“Alright, but why don’t we fucking get on with it, then? Take the bread, put it in the cheese, we swallow it, the Guinness lad writes it all down and we’re out of there in what, twenty minutes, tops.”

He hadn’t meant to be this cutting, had he? Alex’s face fell while the woman remained silent, observing the interaction with great interest. It occurred to Damon that she might have been a journalist, greedy for tales of fights between wrinkly celebrities. He internally rehearsed his toothiest, pop-iest smile, hoping to throw her off.

“No one’s forced you to come, you know.” Alex commented lightly, drawling his syllables as he let his eyes wander on the beautiful landscape. 

“I know, my dear Alex, I know.”

And here came the big pop smile, carefully constructed by obedient, well-trained facial muscles. A little injection of synthetic kindness in the eyes, making him look like a saint. God, he hated himself when he did that. And he knew it looked too phoney, even to a clueless journalist. He could see the cogs turning behind her cold brown eyes. Searching for the right buzzwords that could describe this trivial situation in the most disrespectful way. 

“I know what’ll cheer you up. I’m going to let you be the first man to taste my fondue,” his host suggested, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s...such an honour, Alex. I might not look like it but I’m genuinely holding back my tears right now.”

“Ha! You ungrateful bastard.”

And Alex took him by the arm to guide him towards the 12-feet tall steel vat that proudly stood in the middle of his garden. Damon didn’t see the point in showing any resistance. Maybe Alex and all his posh guests were right all along. Maybe liquid cheese was the answer. And if it wasn’t, he would be out of there sooner than planned, which sounded brilliant to him.

  
  


Damon was patiently waiting for his snack, standing on a small platform in front of the tank. A rough-looking pulley system had been set up right next to it. The cable that was dangling from it was tied to a wooden beam lying at its base, and onto which a few loaves of bread had been skewered. When he was done giving his inaugural speech, a focused expression took over Alex’s face and he leaned over a control board on the other side of the platform to press a few buttons.

The clapping and cheering died down, giving way to a suspenseful silence. Immediately, the pulleys started whirring and rattling and the giant skewer began its ascension before the amazed audience. The sky was darkening, giving the scene a dramatic flair, much more than was necessary. As the wind picked up, it was quite easy to assess how many litres of hair spray each woman had used while getting ready for the event, judging by the varying degree of chaos seen in their ruined updos. As soon as the skewer reached the edge of the vat, a lever was pulled and the crane began to turn itself around with a low buzz, aiming for the center of the hole. Then, the cable started to unravel to allow the beam to dive into the melted cheese. The tank was so tall that it was impossible to see what was going on inside of it from the ground, but the guests managed to guess that contact had been made when a bubbling sound was heard, and gave a round of applause. A few more buttons were pressed and the coated loaves of bread started to rise up again. Everything seemed to be going perfectly well… Until a violent gust of wind rolled over the hills, making the youngest trees flatten against the grass and the outdoor furniture topple over. From the shaking tank came a horribly metallic rumble that elicited a loud collective gasp. Mothers took their precious children into their arms, their eyes widening as the cable began to undulate wildly in the air. The skewer was rocking dangerously above the opening, spilling drops of piping hot cheese around. It only took a second, equally strong blow of wind to send the wooden beam flying towards where Damon was standing, hitting him right in the head. He collapsed on one side of the tank, and a choir of terrified shrieks was the last thing he heard before losing consciousness. A pungent, yellowish tidal wave engulfed the garden. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> APieceOfPaper (@iamasheetofpaper on tumblr), thank you so so much for taking the time to proofread this chapter! Your suggestions have been very helpful!


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